


touch until you give me, suddenly

by lesbianmcqueen



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Cunnilingus, Degradation, It's porn, Other, Praise Kink, bart said FUCK gender, dom/sub... guess who's who, hot girl bartimaeus, nonbinary icon bartimaeus of uruk, not total pwp... they're soft at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianmcqueen/pseuds/lesbianmcqueen
Summary: “I can’t. I’ve never—you have a—I don’t know what to do with that!”Bartimaeus’s smile is more predatory than sympathetic. He pulls his fingers out slowly—they’re wet, sticky and glistening in the warm sunlight that seeps through the half-open blinds—and sits up. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”
Relationships: Bartimaeus/Nathaniel (Bartimaeus)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	touch until you give me, suddenly

There’s a woman in his bed.

There’s a woman in his bed and she’s—

Nathaniel slams the door shut and sags against it, heart pounding. There’s a woman in his bed and she’s _touching_ herself, back arched, lip between her teeth, fingers— _well_ —he feels as if someone’s taken a spoon to his brain and scooped out from the center. 

_It’s Bartimaeus,_ he thinks, _It’s just Bartimaeus,_ but somehow the thought doesn’t make it any better. He can feel his whole face burning up; his hand trembles on the doorknob. 

Nathaniel rests his forehead against the wood. He just needs to calm his breathing, go to the kitchen, make himself a cup of tea, and then he’ll forget what he saw.

After all, Bartimaeus never takes a woman’s guise when they’re together. This must be something he wants to keep to himself. And it’s not like Nathaniel would even know where to _begin_ with a—

The door gives way. Nathaniel stumbles into the room, nearly but not quite eating shit on his own hardwood floor.

“Nat,” groans Bartimaeus. His voice doesn’t seem to be any higher than usual. It’s just _different_ —brand new and gleaming like the rest of him. His eyes are still screwed shut and he hasn’t stopped moving his fingers inside of himself. “Come here.”

Nathaniel can’t obey. In spite of the djinni’s tone—hungry, impatient, recognizably dangerous—he’s rooted to the spot. He hasn’t felt this lightheaded since Jane Farrar cornered him at the Foreign Secretary’s office all those years ago. 

“Nathaniel.” Bartimaeus grits out the name, craning his neck and glaring from between his legs. “Get over here before I _make_ you.” 

Nathaniel breaks out of his trance and takes a step back, shaking his head and blushing somehow brighter. “I can’t. I’ve never—you have a—I don’t know what to _do_ with that!” 

Bartimaeus’s smile is more predatory than sympathetic. He pulls his fingers out slowly—they’re wet, sticky and glistening in the warm sunlight that seeps through the half-open blinds—and sits up. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you. Get on the bed.”

Cautiously, red-faced, Nathaniel does. 

“Now look.” Still sitting upright, keeping his feet firmly planted on the bed, Bartimaeus opens his legs again. “Not at the _ceiling_ , Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel squirms and looks down at where Bartimaeus is holding himself open. He sucks in a breath. “Oh. It’s so... pretty.”

“Thank you. See this?”

“Y-yes.” 

“This is my clit. It’s essentially my cock, but smaller, and possibly better; I can’t see you gag on it so I suppose it’s technically up for debate. _This_ is what I want you to focus on.”

“All right,” says Nathaniel slowly. His natural instincts are coming to him now—the desire to learn, to know, to please. He peers closer at the tiny, glistening hardness between Bart’s folds. “What do I do with it?”

Bartimaeus grabs a fistful of Nathaniel’s hair, drawing him closer. “First of all, stop beating around the bush with the pronouns. _It_ has a name, and it’s my cunt. Or pussy. Or whatever else the kids are calling it these days. Second of all, just do what you always do.”

“And what’s that?” asks Nathaniel, too distracted by the view to get a grip on the djinni’s words.

“Make me come,” says Bartimaeus, and he shoves Nathaniel’s face into his cunt. 

_Can’t gag me on it, yeah right._

Despite lacking both air and experience, it takes Nathaniel all of three seconds to find his bearings. He locates Bartimaeus’s clit from memory and starts licking, gratified to hear the djinni gasp above him. 

The learning curve is short and shallow. Nathaniel falls into rhythm easily, leaning into the familiar hold Bartimaeus has on his hair. 

As always, Bartimaeus tastes just a bit cleaner than nothing: spring water, mountain air. But now the texture is different, and he’s so _wet_. The experience is not as immediately satisfying as sucking cock—Nathaniel has grown used to having his mouth full—but it’s made up for in how much more sensitive Bartimaeus seems to be. He’s grinding against Nathaniel’s mouth already, as close to begging as he ever gets, and it’s barely been a minute.

“Suck,” Bart demands. There’s a whine at the back of his throat, a rawness that Nathaniel is rarely privy to. “Now.” Nat latches onto Bartimaeus’s clit, a shiver running down his spine at the djinni’s low groan, gaze cast upward in anticipation of his next command.

Bartimaeus is looking down at him, black eyes blazing, grip getting tighter in his hair. “Good boy.”

Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut to avoid having to moan and sucks harder.

Bartimaeus comes with a choked cry, back arched, legs wrapped suddenly tight around Nathaniel’s neck. Nathaniel revels in his own breathlessness, smiling faintly as he continues lapping at Bart’s folds. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” says Bartimaeus, hips bucking. “Stop— _Nathaniel_. Unless you want me to go again—”

Nathaniel licks a hard stripe up Bart’s cunt, only pulling off once he’s heard a satisfactory yelp, and raises his head. “Go again,” he says with a pant, part goading, part begging. 

“Nat—fuck—”

Nathaniel’s tongue has started to ache; he ignores it, focusing instead on making Bartimaeus come undone. Against his base instincts, he licks hard, fast, messy, maybe if he’s lucky this will only take a few more minutes and then he can rest—

Bartimaeus shudders above him.

When the trembling finally stops Nathaniel pulls back, impressed. Bartimaeus actually looks short of breath—there might be a few beads of sweat on his forehead, too, and is that a flush at his breast? How dramatic, and yet how perfectly satisfying. “Already?”

“This form is…” Bart sounds equal parts exhausted and pleased. “This form is something else. It took me a long time to perfect, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure,” says Nathaniel graciously. He’s noticed that one of Bartimaeus’s hands is still resting on the back of his head, preventing him from moving any further. 

“Where are you going?” asks Bartimaeus amiably. “You’re on a roll, might as well go for three.” 

Nat’s tongue really is tired. But Bartimaeus is dripping all over the sheets. And he _was_ ready to go for another five minutes, at least… 

Nathaniel gives his tongue a stretch and then dives back in. Bartimaeus groans contentedly above him.

Curiosity overtaking him, Nathaniel leaves Bartimaeus’s clit to lap at the wetness in and around his folds, the ones that remind him so much of the roses blooming in his boyhood garden. A quiet moan, no complaining—good. He runs his tongue across the hole where Bartimaeus is leaking and the djinni lets out a small gasp, slender fingers tightening in his hair.

Nathaniel breaks off, barely managing to resist the pressure of Bartimaeus’s hand on his head. “You were using your fingers. Can I do that?”

“Yes,” says Bartimaeus raggedly. “ _Please_. Fuck me.”

Nathaniel looks down, gauging Bartimaeus’s wetness, and tentatively presses two fingers against his hole. The djinni whines. 

Nat frowns, glancing back up. “Too much?”

Bartimaeus squirms just a little and for the first time tonight, Nathaniel is able to fully appreciate just how beautiful his present form is. “Not enough.”

Nathaniel is back to feeling faint. He bends down again, readying four fingers this time, and has to bite his tongue to keep from moaning when he finally breaches Bartimaeus’s entrance: The slide is so _easy_ , nothing like when Nathaniel preps himself even with lube dripping down his thighs. He braces himself against the bed with his other hand and slips in all the way to his last knuckle.

Bartimaeus moans, low and wrecked. Nathaniel’s cock strains against his trousers but he barely registers the ache, too distracted by the pulsing heat around his fingers.

Nathaniel draws his fingers out experimentally. Then back in, out—Bartimaeus’s whining rises a pitch when he rubs against the upper wall, so that’s what Nathaniel pays attention to as he returns to sucking the djinni’s clit. 

“That’s it, good boy, ah, love your mouth…” Nathaniel’s whole body shivers with the praise. He grinds against the bed as he fucks into Bartimaeus faster, amazed that even with the friction the djinni just keeps getting _wetter_. Nat pulls off, licking his lips, and opens his mouth to ask about the specifics of this guise’s anatomy— 

“You _insufferable_ human,” hisses Bartimaeus, pushing Nathaniel’s head back down so forcefully that he almost loses balance. “You worthless little whore. You have one job and you can’t even do that.” 

Nathaniel whimpers into Bartimaeus’s cunt as he opens his mouth wide, letting the djinni fuck his tongue, ride his fingers. 

Bartimaeus laughs sharply, snapping his hips upward, soaking Nathaniel’s chin. “Oh, right, forgot. You _like_ being reminded that you’re a dumb slut.” Nathaniel groans deeply. “That you can’t do anything without my help. You’re just here to sit still and look pretty, aren't you, boy? _Shit_ —”

Nathaniel has been lapping at Bartimaeus’s cunt more and more forcefully with every harsh word, tongue aching but ignored, his mind in a haze. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees the tears fall against his slick fingers, mixing with Bartimaeus’s wetness and his own spit. His chest heaves with arousal, shame, desperation—with a sob, he releases his left hand from Bartimaeus’s hip and shoves it between his thighs, grinding hard against his own knuckles. 

Bartimaeus’s hips lift high off the bed when he comes. Nathaniel can’t breathe but he doesn’t stop: This is how it should be, his mind foggy, his mouth full. His face gets warmer and wetter and he has he thinks he could die here, at this moment when everything is silent except for Bartimaeus crying out his name. 

* * *

The hand stroking Nathaniel’s hair is familiar. The pillowy softness beneath his head is not. He opens his eyes to see the curve of a woman’s upper breast, her delicate brown throat, her curling hair—and he remembers, then, where he is and why his tongue is throbbing. 

“Bartimaeus,” he murmurs, his hand curling against the flat center of the djinni’s chest. 

“Nathaniel.” Even with the voice of an unfamiliar guise, Bartimaeus sounds so much like himself like this—affectionate, amused. 

Nathaniel looks up at him hopefully. “I did well?” 

“ _So_ well, my sweet boy, you gave me everything I could want.”

This answer, to Nathaniel, seems suspect. He sits up a little, eyeing Bartimaeus warily. “Everything?” 

“Welllll,” says Bartimaeus. “I was thinking, a little bit, about letting you come in me.” 

The whine escapes Nathaniel’s throat before he can even process the words. 

“But it seems you didn’t want me to do any work, being the gentleman you are.”

Nathaniel frowns. “What do you—” And then he feels Bartimaeus’s warm hand against the front of his trousers and realizes: they’re damp. He already came. 

“Oh,” he says, hoping his tone comes off as neutral even though it feels like he just bit straight into a lemon peel. 

Bartimaeus laughs and presses him closer. “You don’t have to _lament_. It was flattering, really.”

Nathaniel could scream. He settles for burying his face between Bart’s breasts to hide his blush. 

“Comfortable?”

Nathaniel’s response is muffled, but his tone is somewhere in the affirmative range. 

“So you agree this guise is one of my greatest achievements,” says Bartimaeus solemnly, as he begins to stroke Nathaniel’s hair again. “What do you think? Somewhere between the Walls of Prague and saving the world a second time?” 

Nathaniel raises his head. “It is very nice.” 

“Just _nice_?” 

“ _Very_ nice,” he repeats, and he looks into Bartimaeus’s eyes for the first time since he stumbled into the room. 

They’re the same shining dark they always are. Glimmering as much with mischief as with an ancient power. And something else, something bigger and brighter that forces Nathaniel’s heart into his throat—he only began to see it recently, but it might have been there long before. He wishes he knew how long. He wants to know how much Bartimaeus has forgiven. 

He will have to be content knowing it is there now, and that he is forgiven. 

“You’re beautiful,” says Nathaniel. “You always are.” 

Bartimaeus grins. “Oh, you’re just saying that.” 

He knows Bartimaeus is teasing, but he can’t help but respond in earnest. “I mean it,” he says quietly, cupping the woman’s soft cheek. “I see you and I feel like I know—I _know_ no one else has seen such beauty. In my time or any other.” 

Bartimaeus stares at him for a long moment, making Nathaniel worry that he’s said something unseemly. But before he can pull his hand away, long, dark, lashes are brushing suddenly against his palm. Bartimaeus has leaned into his touch, and the smoldering blackness in his eyes now threatens to eclipse everything. 

“I love you,” says Nathaniel, simply because there is nothing else in the world he could say when Bartimaeus is looking at him like that. 

For once, Bartimaeus doesn’t speak—no mocking, no backtalk, no deflections. Soft lips slowly parting, he kisses Nathaniel on the mouth. And it’s not long before he’s flipping them over and unbuttoning Nathaniel’s trousers with one deft hand. 

When Bartimaeus finally drops down onto him, it’s a few seconds before Nathaniel can breathe again. “We have to revise your ranking,” he gasps. “This is better than saving the world.” 

“A second time?” asks Bartimaeus, surprised. 

“A third time,” says Nathaniel, back arching as he tries and fails to hold back a moan. He scratches at Bartimaeus’s back, wondering briefly if the djinni will let the marks remain. “You can… get back to me about— _oh_ —a fourth.”

Bartimaeus smiles wildly, gives a firm salute. “Will do,” he says. He rolls his hips. Nathaniel rises up to meet him. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank god this story is finally out there its been stewing in my brain for like two years. shoutout to my girlfriend for 1) reading TBT for me 2) asking me to finish this. kudos & comments always appreciated.


End file.
